Because I Loved Him
by Lulu1709
Summary: What do you do when the one person you love, is the one person who brings you down? Entry for the Love Lost Contest.


To see all entries in the "Love Lost" Contest, please visit the profile: fanfiction(dot)net/u/2458839/Love_Lost_Contest

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I remember the first time I had that feeling. It sits in the pit of my stomach and tries to push its way into every cell, every muscle. It sinks its claws in deep, and I try.

I try to ignore how much it bothers me, and eats at me, and consumes every thought, or emotion.

I'm 17. I'm on my way home from our family beach vacation, and I can't wait to see him again. It's been 14 days. I plan it out in my head. He has to work the day I get back, so I will go to him.

I buy him his usual. Cheeseburger, ketchup only. I make sure I look cute, and wear something that will show off my tan.

I park, and walk as fast as I can through the mall. I find him in his store, and he's talking to some brunette with shoulder length hair, and this is not at all how I thought this would go.

He's making her smile. She's playing with the hem of her shirt, and batting her eyes, and why can't he look at me? Until he does.

And I get this gut feeling. I know. And I don't want to know.

He tells her to wait a minute, and comes over to give me a hug. I mention that I brought him food, and wonder when he can take his lunch break. He tells me five minutes, so I wait, and try to fake a smile.

I sit on the bench by the food court until he shows up, and she's with him. They are friends, he tells me. She smiles at me and tells me her name, and I'm already angry, because this was supposed to be our time, not hers.

We sit at a table, and I talk about my trip, and he mentions my tan, just like I knew he would.

She starts throwing out inside jokes and interrupting me, and I'm left out. I'm sitting across from my boyfriend of a year, and all I can hear is her giggles, and how they only see each other.

A week later, his phone buzzes when he's using the bathroom. It's sitting in front of me, and I have to look.

And my world shatters, even though I already knew it was going to.

I ignore him for 7 days. He apologizes. He leaves white roses on my doorstep, because he knows that I hate the red ones. He calls me everyday, even though I don't answer.

And then I do. And I hate myself for it. And I hate myself for loving him.

I go back up to his work to see him. He's getting off in twenty minutes, and we decide to walk around the mall together and talk.

We browse racks of clothing, and he reaches out and tangles his fingers in mine. And I let him.

He pulls me closer to him, and kisses my hairline. And I let him.

He pulls me into a dressing room, and fucks me. And I let him.

Because I love him.

But I never forget that feeling. All of my nerves are shot and my palms are sweaty. I know that no matter what happens it will not end well. It's a lose/lose situation. What do I do? Ignore it, and pretend it will go away? Confront him, and risk losing him?

I'm 18, and I'm happy. For the moment. We are college students, and we think we are big shit.

We party, and drink, and play, and fight, and fuck. It's a vicious cycle, and it never ends.

Until it does.

I get that feeling. And I know. Something just isn't right.

I'm showering one night in his dorm. I wrap myself in a towel and cuddle up in his bed while I'm still wet, and I laugh because even though it makes him mad, he knows I love to do it, so he lets me.

He cuddles up behind me, and kisses my ear, my neck, my stomach, my pussy.

I cry out, and it's so good. I lose myself in him and then I'm tired, so he holds me until I'm asleep.

I wake up to his voice. He's on the phone with a friend. He thinks I'm asleep.

I hear the voice on the phone ask if he fucked that girl from his work, and I remember the brunette, with the giggles, and inside jokes.

Except he doesn't work with her anymore, she moved away.

This one is blonde, and skinny, and married. Her husband beats her, and she has a baby, and he was trying to help her, and they got drunk.

I want to see her face. I want to know what happened.

When he hangs up the phone, he realizes I was listening, and tells me to get out.

He throws my clothes at me, and I'm crying and begging him to stop.

I'll forgive him. I'll pretend nothing happened.

Because I love him.

And once again my world shatters, even though I already knew it would.

Except for this time, I let his apologies and flowers work 7 days sooner than last time.

And I hate myself for it. And I hate myself for loving him.

He pulls me against him, and we are both crying, and I slap him. I just want him to feel some kind of hurt, maybe just a fraction of what I feel.

He whispers I'm sorry, he whispers I love you, he plays with my damp hair, and kisses the tip of my nose. And I let him.

He pulls the sheet I was clutching away from me, and pulls me back to the bed, false promises falling from his lips. And I let him.

Because I love him.

I've tried confronting. I've tried ignoring. I'm always the one who ends up broken. But that never matters. I trick myself into believing that he doesn't mean it, or it was because of his drinking, or his immaturity.

I remember the first time I had that feeling. And the second. And now the tenth. Or maybe the eleventh. I've lost count.

I'm 19, and I'm staring at two little pink lines.

Two little pink lines that will change anything I've ever known. This is so much bigger than me, and I'm scared, and angry, and mad, and happy, and anxious, and fuck.

Because I love him. And yet I'm alone.

I call him, and tell him the news. It's been three weeks since we've spoken. He asks me if it's his.

Fuck you, of course it's yours.

He finally comes around. And I let him.

I dream of a family. I dream, because somewhere deep down, I know it will never happen. We hold hands, and smile, and tell everyone the news.

Our parents are angry.

I move in with him, and we are like a family. For a while.

Until he changes my life in a completely different way.

He joins the military. He leaves in January, 5 days before I'm due.

I'm 20, and I'm 8 months along, and he loses his job that was keeping us afloat until he left for boot camp. He sits on his ass, I work mine off.

I'm angry, but I'm excited, because I love her. I would do anything for her.

But I love him, too.

And then my world stops. She's in my arms, and my tears are flowing, and my teeth are showing, and my smile is touching my eyes.

She is my reason for living.

He's there. He's distant. And 6 days after, he's gone.

I spend the first 6 months of parenthood without him. He misses everything because of boot camp. No phones, no pictures. The mail takes weeks to get to him.

And then his letters come in. He promises me that he will take care of us. He's an adult now, and he will be there for us. He wants to marry me on his leave, and love me forever.

I learn to trust him again. Big mistake.

I'm 20 and I have an 8 month old. We are reciting our vows, and he slips the ring on my finger. We are surrounded by family, who has accepted our decisions, and love us unconditionally. I take his last name, and we are finally that family I dreamed of.

Until we aren't.

I sit and stare at the wall, and wonder why I've let someone do this to me. I wonder if I have no self-worth, or what might be wrong with me, or what I didn't do enough of. Did I fold the towels wrong? Was my cooking bad? Did those 5 years I spent loving him mean nothing at all?

I have left everyone behind for him, and moved across the country for him. He drives the 18 hours with me, and we smile, and act excited because we have spent the last 11 months apart, and he is finally able to provide a home for us.

We spend the weekend getting settled. We explore, we drive around listening to music. He holds her, and she smiles at him, and my heart explodes.

And I'm happy until I get that feeling. No. No. No. Not this time. It's not there. He loves me, and we are happy, and we have her.

But it doesn't go away.

He eventually goes to work. I wait until he's gone, and I tear apart the house. I pull the drawers apart, and dig under the mattress and rifle through the files, and papers, and search every nook and corner of our house.

And it's there.

In a little old cell phone he used a couple of months back. It's tucked in the bedside table, so I press the power button.

There are text messages, and I'm crying, and a mess, and this isn't happening to me again. It can't.

_She has beautiful eyes he can look into for hours._

_He needs to see her before he leaves. _

_He misses her._

The date is the week of our marriage.

This time I don't tell him I know.

I play housewife, and act happy. I refuse to acknowledge what I have found.

Until we fight. The first thing out of my mouth is what I've been hiding.

He's shocked and doesn't know what to say. He yells at me, and screams at me, but this time I'm 18 hours away from home, and I have nowhere to go, and no one to help me.

And my world has shattered yet again, even though, just like before, I knew it would.

I get angry, and go upstairs. I put her to bed, in her own room, that we have because of him. I shower in the water that he pays for, and towel off. I slip under the covers in the bed that we have shared over the years, and I smell him all over me and it hurts.

I feel him behind me hours later, and I pretend like I'm asleep.

I feel him kiss the back of my neck, and my skin pimples. He weaves his fingers through my hair, like so many other times, and pulls me into him. He's warm, and he smells like home, and I'm crying again, and he's kissing away the tears. And I let him

He's whispering his apologies as he slips into me, and the pushes and pulls lull me into a state of calm. And I let him.

And I hate myself for it. And I hate myself for loving him.

My name is a strangled cry as it leaves his throat, and when I'm washing myself off in the bathroom a few minutes later, I wonder if he saw her blue eyes while he fucked me.

But I let him.

Because I love him.

Of course I pin it on myself. It's always my fault. I guess after being blamed for everything enough times over the years, you actually start to believe it.

Maybe I should have lost more weight. Maybe I should have worn more make-up. Maybe I should have smiled more. Maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe, maybe.

It doesn't change anything, though. It never does.

I have to know their names. See their pictures. It hurts a hell of a lot more, but I have to. I need to know if her blonde hair tickled his stomach when she sucked him off. I need to know if his hands held her curved hips as he fucked her.

Was it in the bed we share? Do I dream every night in the same place she got him off?

I'm almost 22, and she's beautiful. She has his big blue eyes, and my curly brown hair. She's perfect, and I'm happy. We are finally a family.

I learn to cook chicken.

I do the laundry. I make our meals. I clean the house. I'm a mom. I'm a wife.

He's there sometimes. But we're okay. On the outside.

After a few months he stops touching me. I beg and I plead, and I want to feel wanted, and normal. I want him to want me like he wants them. I want him to fuck me, and feel me, and I want my name to be in his mouth. And no matter what I do, it's always a struggle.

Time passes, and we start to smile again, but I don't know how.

We are at home for the first time in a while. His parents are excited, and we feel grown up because we are a family and they are okay with it.

We are finally respected, and we aren't children anymore.

We go out, just us, childless, for the first time together in almost a year. We have a beer, and then another, and we are smiling, and flirting, and he's pushing me into a wall and his teeth are on my skin, and my nails are in his back, and my eyes are rolling, and this is happening.

He is holding me against him, and I'm smiling into his kisses, and he's breathing in my ear, and we are in the bed, and he's kissing every inch of my skin.

I'm smiling again.

His fingers are rubbing, pushing, tweaking, and his tongue is licking, sucking, fucking.

I'm moaning, writhing, wanting.

I'm happy but it's like a band aid over a gaping wound. He wants me like he wanted them. He's touching me like I think he touched them. He's kissing me like I think he kissed them.

I have frizzy hair, full hips, and stretch marks from our daughter, and I'm ashamed because he wants the blonde hair, and the blue eyes, and the giggles.

The next day I get that feeling.

The first chance I get, I read his phone. And it's there.

My heart is beating so hard, I swear it's going to jump out of my chest. My palms are sweaty, and my head is throbbing, and I'm shaking all over, and it hurts.

It hurts more than anything I've ever felt. It hurts in the tips of my hair. It hurts everywhere.

This time he knows it's bad. He knows he's made the worst mistake. He yells at me, and throws the ring that holds our vows at me. He tells me I'm a shitty wife and I don't fuck him enough.

He stabs me with words, and he puts me down so he can push himself up. I watch him grab his keys, and walk away.

I cry and I hurt, and I don't know what to do.

We are leaving in three days to go back to our house, our life, and I'm not so sure that it is mine anymore.

I'm numb.

He gives me space, and I leave for two days. I am torn, broken, and beat. When he sees me, he is sorry, I can tell that much from his eyes.

We have the hardest conversation, and I'm angry and I'm hurt, and I'm confused.

I wait for his apologies. I wait for his touches, and his kisses, and his smell to bring me down.

He pleads to me for hours, and plays with my hair, and holds me while I cry, and when I almost fall asleep from exhaustion, I feel his lips lightly press to mine. The salt from my tears is all I can taste, and my eyes are raw, and I'm wondering if he feels bad for doing this to me. Again.

He pulls me against him, and when he touches his lips to mine for the second time, I don't feel anything. I'm empty.

This time I don't let him.

I stand up, and pack my bags, and I walk away.

This time I don't let him.

He shows up at my doorstep, he's crying and begging, and I don't care.

And it feels _good_.

I let him get on the plane the next day, and he's gone, and I'm alone. I'm hurt, and broken, and crying. But it feels _good_. It feels _free_.

And she's here, and smiling at me, and playing with her toys, and she makes me smile.

And I'm okay.

And once again my world has shattered, and I knew it would happen.

But this time I realized that he isn't my whole world.

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**Thank you to everyone who read, reviewed...etc. Thank you so much to Erin for all of her help. It was because of her I entered in the first place. Congrats to all of the winners!**


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